


Amongst Other Things

by WildImaginings



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, I bloody love tropes, Smut, stuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 21:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5944282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildImaginings/pseuds/WildImaginings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So you’re good with your hands?” she asks huskily, and Haymitch resists the urge to groan aloud, because this has to be heading where he thinks it’s heading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amongst Other Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seakaygee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seakaygee/gifts).



> Haymitch is a contractor/builder, Effie is the supervising architect. This is what happens when they get stuck in an elevator ;)  
> For now, this is a oneshot.

The sun has long since set, and things are finally starting to wind down for the day as Haymitch makes his way toward the elevator, situated in the finished part of the floor. Finnick has everything under control; he’ll make sure that everything is straightened out and left properly before the guys pack up and leave for the day. He might have looked young and dumb to Haymitch when he’d first met him, but he’s hard pressed to deny that Finnick is a pretty good second in command. 

 

He’s more than that really; he’d been the one to make sure that everything was ticking over and being done properly when Haymitch had been sorting himself out after the incident, and he’d basically managed the last job from start to finish. In short, Finnick is an all round good guy. Haymitch grimaces slightly when he thinks of all of the companies who’ll be dying to get their hands on him when word of his abilities gets out. He’ll be a tough act to follow, that much is certain.

 

He approaches the finished section of the building that houses the elevators and stairwells, leading to the various offices and meeting rooms that are spread out over the five floors. All of the other floors have been completed, and there’s just this last one to work on before this job is officially over and done with. He groans inwardly when he catches sight of the only other person who’s stood waiting for the lift, and his groan isn’t just because her black skirt is fitted and stretched over her ass like a second skin. She may have an ass that won’t quit, but her mouth doesn’t quit either, and he’s not sure if he has the strength to deal with her snide comments and stuck up attitude for a second longer. He briefly considers taking the stairs, but they’re five floors up, and his legs are aching, and surely he can put up with her for a minute or so?

 

She must hear him approaching because she turns to face him with a smile on her face that drops as soon as she sees that it’s him. “Fancy seeing you here, princess,” he says as he comes to a stop beside her, her black heels in stark contrast to the pristine white tiles of the floor.

 

She sighs irritably, folding her arms in a way that has his eyes flickering to her chest for a fraction of a second. “I’ve told you more than once, Mr Abernathy. My name is not princess, or sweetheart, or any of the other ridiculous monikers you seem to have seen fit to bestow on me. My name is Effie Trinket. You should know; it’s on your contract under the heading,  _ Supervising Architect _ .” 

 

The elevator dings, signalling its arrival, and they both step in immediately, gravitating to opposite sides and placing as much space as possible into the gulf that lies between them. He’s certain that that little dig about her being his supervisor had been meant to sting, but he just smirks to himself as he remembers the absolute fit she’d thrown when she’d heard him on the phone to Chaff, referring to her as the designer. He’d had to endure her ranting on about how long she’d studied for, and the years of training, and  _ Do you even realise how much work becoming an architect entails, Mr Abernathy? _

 

The way her chest had heaved under his gaze had almost made having to listen to the screeching of her voice worthwhile, and he chuckles quietly at the memory of it. The glare she throws his way tells him that she probably has some idea of what he’s laughing about, and she mumbles something about cavemen before sniffing the air in distaste and angling herself so that she’s turned away from him.

 

Haymitch isn’t sure why this bitch seems to have such a stick up her ass, and he muses to himself, not for the first time, that she’d probably benefit from a good seeing to. She seems as though she’s the sort of woman to demand flowers and dinner before  _ making love _ with whichever poor sap she’s calling her boyfriend at the time. She’s probably never been  _ fucked _ a day in her life, and she looks like the type who’d secretly enjoy it. 

 

Haymitch can’t deny that he’d willingly volunteer for the job. She looks like some sort of fantasy librarian or some shit, with her neatly pinned blonde hair, and those red glasses she wears when she’s reading from plans, and those shirts that are never fully buttoned. And then there are the skirts, and the high heels that she totters around in and somehow manages to avoid breaking her neck. He’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about what it would feel like to have her legs wrapped around his waist and those heels digging into the small of his back, her blonde hair free and untamed.

 

He turns his head and finds Effie regarding him quizzically, and he’s about to make a sarcastic comment about not thinking too hard lest she hurt herself, when all of a sudden there’s a jolt. The floor underneath them starts to shake tremulously before all movement ceases, and the elevator comes to a jarring halt. 

 

Haymitch shifts his attention back to Effie and finds her looking around the small space with a confused and slightly panicked expression on her face. She brushes past him and leans forward slightly so that she can press the assistance button on the wall. He’s suddenly aware of the warmth of her body where it’s pressed up against his own, and when he shifts his head to look at her, he’s greeted with the sight of a scrap of white lace peeking out above the dip in her shirt. She glances up and catches him staring, and although her eyes narrow into a glare, there’s the barest hint of a blush starting to work its way across her chest.

 

The noise of feedback on the line startles the both of them. Effie turns back to face the speakers, but not before Haymitch spots her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. He feels his cock stir at the sight, and he wonders what else that tongue is capable of.

 

Haymitch doesn’t get involved in the conversation that follows, and he’s only half listening as Effie demands that Brutus from security does something  _ now _ . He hears Brutus tell her in a bored voice that the engineers will be called, and that their usual response time is a couple of hours. He winces slightly as Effie’s voice becomes even more high pitched and whiny in response to his statement. There’s some back and forth between the two of them, before Brutus abruptly informs them that there’s nothing more he can do until the engineers arrive, and that the intercom will ring if there are any further updates. 

 

Effie takes her finger off the button and makes a noise of frustration. “Well, this is absolutely  _ beyond _ . Two hours! Do they not realise that some people have lives to get on with?!” she fumes, and Haymitch snorts in amusement. 

 

“Can’t say that two hours stuck in here with you is my idea of a good time either, sweetheart.”

 

Effie makes a noise of disapproval and starts to say, “Mr Abernathy--” but Haymitch cuts her off before she can get the rest of her sentence out. 

 

“Would you stop fucking calling me that?” he growls, “It’s Haymitch.” He’s trying to ignore the effect she’s having on him when she calls him  _ Mr Abernathy _ in that snooty voice; he’s not sure if her calling him  _ Haymitch _ will make things better or worse, but it’s sure as hell worth a try.

 

“If you stop calling me by those ridiculous pet names then I might just consider it,” she acquiesces, and she crosses her arms across her chest again. Haymitch can’t help but let his eyes be drawn down to the fabric of her shirt, and the way it’s pulled tight across her tits. 

 

“I think you secretly love it,” he responds with a smirk, and the smirk widens when the blush across her chest intensifies, and her cheeks bloom with colour. He’s not sure whether her reaction is down to his blatant leering, or because he’s hit the nail on the head with his statement, but she’s a sight for sore eyes when she’s all flustered like this, and he finds that he doesn’t give a fuck what the cause is.

 

“I most certainly do not. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life,” she snaps, but her voice has climbed an octave, and it seems that she’s more affected by his words that she’d care to admit. He chuckles again and raises his hands in a mock show of surrender, but he mentally files that piece of information away as useful, and he can’t help but hope that he’ll get the chance to test his theory soon. Possibly even while they’re still in this elevator.

 

They lapse into a silence that isn't completely uncomfortable. Her arms are still crossed in a show of disapprobation, and Haymitch allows his eyes to flit down once again. There's a smattering of freckles across her chest, and Haymitch ponders what she would taste like were he to press his lips against her skin. Her shirt is light and almost see through, so see through that he wonders if he would be able to see her nipples straining against the fabric if she were to just move her damn arms.

 

Effie shifts awkwardly under his gaze, but she's still got that flush across her cheeks, and there's a look in her eyes that tells Haymitch that she isn't entirely unaffected by his gaze. She clears her throat and he looks up, stifling a groan when her tongue peeks out to moisten her lips.

 

“Why are you leaving early anyway?” she asks, straightening up and sniffing slightly as she continues, “I thought there was at least another hour or so left to your working day.”

 

“None of your fucking business,” he snaps before he can stop himself, and she reels back slightly at the venom in his voice. He grits his teeth, inwardly cursing his impetuousness, and his voice is calmer when he elaborates, “Finnick is overseeing. I got places to be.” 

 

He doesn't tell her the real reason for his leaving early. That come the end of the shift, Finnick and Jo will likely drag everyone to the closest bar, and that he's not sure if he can handle being around all of that booze without giving into temptation. He's not strong enough yet. He still can't forget the way the whisky had felt as it had coursed through his veins; the way it had burned his throat going down and warmed him from the inside out.

 

Effie tuts disapprovingly. “That's a shame. Annie will be disappointed. I think she was hoping that Finnick would be allowed to leave early today, on account of all the late nights he's been putting in all week. He and Johanna in particular seem to be very hard workers.”

 

Haymitch racks his brains. Annie must be the little redhead who seems to shadow Effie everywhere she goes, sketchpad and pencil in hand. He hadn't been aware that she had something going on with Finnick, but now he comes to think about it, the younger man does seem to have been hanging around the break room more often lately.

 

“How do you know so much about my team, princess?” he asks quizzically.

 

Her eyes dart to him before she quickly averts her gaze, one of her arms unfolding itself to pick at an invisible piece of lint on her arm before she starts to speak. “Have you forgotten that you were absent when work began here? And for months afterwards? Finnick was my first point of contact, and he's been nothing but accommodating and charming from the get go. Johanna...not so much. But still; I've spent more time with your team in your absence than you realise. I have taken great interest in overseeing this project.”

 

Haymitch bristles slightly at the mention of his extended sabbatical, and he wills himself to stay calm.

 

He'd been forced to take an extended vacation long before this particular job had started. He thinks back to Romulus Thread's sneering face, and the way he'd missed landing his first punch, his movements sloppy as a result of the whisky. He hadn't missed landing the second punch though. Or the third. Or any of the punches that had followed. The result of the drunken altercation had been a night in the cells and an enforced stay in a rehab facility, and works on this building had already been well underway by the time he'd been well enough to return to work.

 

“Yeah well. I'm here now, aren't I?” he asks, looking around at the four walls that surround them on all sides. His mind is pulled back, and he thinks of white floors, and plastic chairs arranged in a circle, and his palms itch slightly as he tries to bring himself back to the present.

 

He's pulled from his reverie by the sound of Effie huffing in agreement, and he lets his eyes wander down to take in the tightness of her skirt, and the way it's clinging to her in all the right places. She's a welcome distraction, that's for sure.

 

“You certainly are,” she replies, and Haymitch doesn't miss the way her eyes rake over him once before settling on his face. There's a look in her eyes that he can't quite put his finger on, but the air is suddenly thick with tension, and he feels his cock stir within the confines of his jeans.

 

Effie must have noticed the change in atmosphere too, because she uncrosses her arms before bringing them to rest on her lower back. Her eyes flutter shut as she pushes her chest forward and stretches like a cat, and the motion draws her shirt tight across her tits. Haymitch lets his gaze travel down, and he can't help the moan that escapes his lips when he sees that he was correct in his earlier assumption. Her nipples are hard and clearly visible through the thin fabric of the shirt, and her eyes snap open at the sound of his groan.

 

She looks him in the eye, and he could swear he sees her eyes darken slightly before she straightens up and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “What made you become a builder anyway? You seem like you know enough to have done anything you wanted,” she comments, and she sounds slightly breathless, her voice croaky.

 

He turns to face her fully then, but still keeps the semi respectable distance between the two of them. “Because I've always liked working with my hands,” he says, not bothering to keep the suggestive tone out of his voice as he lazily trails his eyes down to take in the curve of her breasts once more.

 

“So you’re good with your hands?” she asks huskily, and Haymitch resists the urge to groan aloud, because this  _ has _ to be heading where he thinks it’s heading.

 

“Amongst other things,” he responds, his voice low and tinged with want, and Effie’s eyes flicker down to his lips and then back up again to meet his gaze. Her pupils are dilated, her mouth open slightly, and Haymitch takes a hesitant step forward to gage her reaction. The movement causes her breasts to brush up against him, and he can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest under his. 

 

He reaches his hands out tentatively and Effie doesn’t stop him, so he rests them against her hips and pulls her forward slightly so that they’re flush against each other. He’s half hard already, and she must be able to feel him pressing against her stomach. As if on cue, her eyelashes flutter and she bites her lip as she directs her gaze downwards. He feels her arms move and then they’re looping around his neck, fingers stroking along his nape, and  _ fuck this _ , he’s not waiting any longer.

 

He tightens his grip on her hips, and she makes a little noise in the back of her throat, and then he’s kissing her, his mouth crashing into hers as if she’s the only anchor in the storm raging around them. His hands leave the safety of her hips and move down to cup her ass, hauling her towards him so that he can grind against her more firmly. She swipes her tongue against his bottom lip and deepens the kiss with a breathless moan. 

 

He lets one of his hands trail up her side, untucking her shirt as he goes, and he lets his palm settle over the soft skin of her stomach. She breaks the kiss, and for a moment Haymitch is worried that he’s overstepped the mark. But then she’s leaning back, unfastening the row of tiny buttons that shield her from his gaze with nimble fingers that are shaking only marginally less than his own.

 

When Effie reaches the end of the row, she shucks off her shirt and he’s suddenly faced with what seems like miles and miles of smooth, ivory skin. She hesitates slightly, her hands still gripping the no doubt expensive shirt, and he can tell that she’d like to fold it and set it neatly down, but she resists temptation, instead dropping it down onto the floor so that it rests somewhere near their feet. If it were anyone else, he’d think of the move as careless, but he knows better than to think of Effie Trinket doing anything remotely careless.

 

Haymitch feasts his eyes on the sight before him, the delicate white lace only just covering what it should. Her nipples are drawn into tight points and clearly visible through the flimsy fabric, and he takes advantage of the space between them, dipping his head down and flicking his tongue over the lace covered peak.

 

She hums her approval, and emboldened by her reaction he opens his mouth slightly and sucks her nipple between his teeth, scraping them softly against the thin layer of lace. His action has the desired result. Effie throws her head back with a quiet cry, and her hands tighten their grip in his hair as her hips buck up against him. He moves his head away, leaning back slightly so that he can pull down the lacy cup of her bra, exposing her fully to his gaze. 

 

She hisses as the lace rasps against her sensitive nipples, and Haymitch wastes no time in bringing his head back down to flick his tongue against her. He carries on until her sighs are almost constant, and her breathing is laboured and heavy, and then he switches sides, lavishing the same attention on her previously neglected breast. He sucks, and licks, and nips until she's gasping and pulling his head up to claim his lips in a desperate kiss. 

 

Their teeth clack together as their tongues battle for dominance, and then one of Effie’s hands leaves his neck and trails down his chest, stopping when it reaches the waistband of his pants. He breaks the kiss to catch his breath, and he feels pleasure thrum through his body when he's met with the intensity of her gaze. 

 

He can't remember the last time that he felt such a need, such a  _ longing _ for another person, and the thought is more sobering than how the handcuffs had felt when they were being tightened around his wrists. Then he feels the soft brush of her hand against his denim covered cock, and he stops thinking altogether.

 

Haymitch gulps when Effie starts to stroke his cock over the fabric of his jeans, and then she brings her other hand down and starts to unfasten his belt. A thought enters his head and he utters a muffled curse, causing her to look at him questioningly.

 

“I don't have a condom,” he explains, and her hands pause at his belt as he tries to catch his breath. He seems to have broken the spell that had momentarily fallen over them, and he waits for her inevitable rejection; for her to push him away and tell him that has been one big mistake from start to finish.

 

Instead she just regards him thoughtfully, and then she clears her throat before asking, “Are you clean?”

 

He thinks back to the way the concrete had felt under his face, to sparse rooms, meetings in basements and blood tests with his probation officer. He thinks of the bed that no one has shared with him for longer than he cares to admit. “Yeah, I'm clean,” he assures her, and she huffs a soft sigh of relief.

 

“Me too. And I'm on the pill,” Effie replies, and her hands start to move against his belt again before she stops suddenly. “That is--if you still want to, that is,” she says, suddenly sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

 

Haymitch doesn't answer her with words. Instead he trails his lips across the line of her jaw and down to her neck, dropping soft kisses along the way. Her breath catches audibly when he darts his tongue out to taste her, and he bites down gently on her pulse point in response. She exhales shakily, and then she gasps when he sucks the soft skin of her neck into his mouth, worrying it gently with his teeth. He realises belatedly that she's probably going to bruise, and his cock throbs at the thought of everyone seeing his mark on her pretty little neck.

 

Haymitch smooths his hands down her skirt until he reaches the hem. His hands tuck under the fabric and he lets his thumbs rub against her. He's expecting her to be wearing tights, or stockings, or something, but instead his hand meets the bare skin of her thighs and he groans lowly at the feel of her. Effie’s hands are coasting along his back under his t shirt, and she digs her sharp nails into his skin, causing his groan to deepen. 

 

His hands move upwards, slowly dragging her skirt with him as he goes, and he's almost reached the tops of her thighs when he suddenly feels her hands leave his back and grasp his face. She hauls him upwards and pulls him into a deep kiss, her tongue delving into his mouth and sliding sensuously against his own.

 

Effie pushes him backwards suddenly until he's backed against the wall, and he makes a little noise of surprise at the ferocity of her actions but he's not complaining. It seems as though he might have gotten the wrong idea about her; she's no repressed wallflower. As if the prove a point, she yanks his shirt up and over his head impatiently, before taking a moment to stroke her hands over the planes of his chest. She doesn't linger long, making short work of his belt buckle and fly before tugging the denim down so that his jeans fall to his calves.

 

She nips at his bottom lip before swiping her tongue against his, and she grips him gently through his boxers. He thrusts his hips against her hand and she starts to move her hand slowly up and down, the thin fabric brushing against the head of his sensitive cock on every stroke of her hand.

 

Effie pulls his boxers down roughly and his cock springs free, and he hisses when his heated flesh comes into contact with the cool air. She wraps one hand around his cock and strokes him slowly, and her other hand trails lazily across his thigh, the sharp sensation of her nails causing him to break their kiss and inhale sharply. The corners of her lips turn upwards into a smirk, and he realises that she's still half dressed. She's had the upper hand since she pushed him against the wall, and he still doesn't know what she's wearing underneath that fucking skirt.

 

Haymitch reaches down and rucks her skirt up and over the tops of her thighs until it’s bunched up around her waist. His hands travel down to cup her ass, and he pulls her flush against him and thrusts up into her hand. Her tits brush against his chest, and he kneads her ass with both hands as he claims her lips in a brutal kiss. She moans into his mouth, relaxing her grip on his cock, and he takes advantage of her momentary lapse in concentration, rotating them so that their positions are reversed and it’s her back that’s pressed up against the wall.

 

Effie squeaks in surprise, her hand abandoning his cock and coming to rest on his shoulder, and he grinds his erection up against her stomach as he finally manages to yank her skirt up so that it's bunched up around her waist. He shifts his hand and groans when it comes into contact with a scrap of lace, and she whimpers and bites down on his bottom lip when his finger strokes across the soaked material.

 

Her legs widen slightly to allow him access, and her hand tightens its grip on his shoulder as her eyes flutter shut. Haymitch is unfocused in his movements as first, his touch feather-light as he lets his fingers stroke along the lace aimlessly. On his next upward stroke he presses his fingers against the lace firmly and without warning, and she breaks their kiss and chokes out a sob when the lace drags against her swollen clit. Her hips jerk up against him, and she presses herself more firmly into his hand as he repeats the motion.

 

Effie’s biting her lip so hard that he thinks she might draw blood, and her tits are pushed up over the top of her bra, and she's still wearing those fucking high heels, and  _ fuck _ , she's like every fantasy he's ever had rolled into one. Except she's not a fantasy; she's right here in front of him, and her hair is escaping from its clip in loose tendrils that fall to frame her face, and Haymitch thinks that she's quite possibly the most beautiful woman he's ever seen in his whole sorry existence.

 

Effie's eyes fly open when he stops the movement of his hand, and she makes a sound of disappointment before opening her mouth to speak. Any rebuke she may have been planning seems to die on the tip of her tongue when his hands grasp the band of her knickers and gives them a gentle tug. His body follows the path of his hands, and he bends as he pulls the scrap of lace down her legs. He suppresses a moan at the sight of the white lace resting around her ankles, in direct contrast to the ridiculously high black heels.

 

She lifts her feet, left then right, and kicks the fabric to join the ever growing pile of clothes into corner of the small space. He drops a kiss to her ankle and then starts to slow journey back up, peppering the skin of her inner thighs with kisses until his face is hovering in front of her centre. She's glistening under the harsh light, soaked and practically vibrating with need, and he's leaning forward towards her, intent on tasting her, when the fingers that are tangled in his hair pull almost painfully and urge him up so that their lips are inches apart.

 

“Later,” she pants, reaching down and roughly pushing his boxers down his legs before fisting her hand around his cock.

 

He stutters, pleasure blooming in the pit of his stomach, and it takes a few seconds for him to formulate his response. “Later?” he asks, and he's dimly aware of the hopeful tone in his voice, but he's too far gone to care, the feel of her soft hand doing little to help aid his concentration.

 

“Yes,” she affirms, closing the distance between them and touching her lips to his. Her statement shoots straight to his cock, and he's struck with the mental image of what she'd look like naked and tangled in his bedsheets. Or bent over his kitchen table, or pressed against the glass of the shower, or kneeling on the floor in front of him. He wants her in every way imaginable, and the thought that there might be a later has him kissing her deeply, his tongue massaging hers as he presses her further back against the wall.

 

Her thumb swipes across the tip of his cock, spreading the beads of moisture she finds there, and he thrusts into her hand with a groan. He needs to level the playing field somehow, otherwise he's going to end up embarrassing himself. His hand is resting lightly on her hip so he doesn't have far to go, and he takes her by surprise when he swiftly reaches down and cups her. He lets her wetness coat his hand, before sinking two fingers into her wet heat.

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” she cries, the movement of her hand on his cock faltering slightly as he buries his fingers to the hilt within her, swiping his thumb against her clit and withdrawing almost completely before he starts to fuck her in earnest. Her chest is heaving beneath his, nipples brushing against him with every breath that she takes, and her cunt is squeezing his fingers like a vice, and if this is what she's going to feel like around his cock, then he knows he won't last long.

 

Her hand is still moving against his cock, short, irregular strokes that have him gritting his teeth, and his eyes almost drift shut a few times but he forces them to stay open, transfixed by the expression that's painted on her face. He keeps up the movement of his fingers until she's panting and gasping for breath almost constantly, and on his next inward thrust he curls them and rubs against the slightly roughened patch of skin he finds within her.

 

“Haymitch,” she gasps, and he thrusts forward into her hand with a muffled  _ fuck _ at the sound of his name on her lips. It's the first time he's ever heard her say it, and it does things to him; makes his cock pulse and his chest tighten, and  _ Jesus fuck _ , he needs to be inside her now.

 

He removes his fingers from her and reaches around to cup her ass, and she shrieks when she feels him lifting her, hoisting her up until her legs are wrapped around his waist and her heels are digging into his back. He's pressed up flush against her centre and he thrusts once along the length of her heat, wetness coating his cock as he nudges against her clit.

 

“Inside,” she pleads breathlessly, “I--I need you inside, please,” and who is he to refuse when she's asked so nicely? He positions his cock and enters her slowly, Effie's mouth parting slightly before dropping open when he's sheathed himself inside of her tight heat.

 

Her hands fly to his shoulders, and she curls one arm around his neck, her nails scratching against the sensitive skin. 

 

“Your cock feels so good,” she breathes as she rolls her hips against him, and he moans gutturally, a low  _ fuck _ at the sound of Effie Trinket being so uncharacteristically unrestrained.

 

He starts to fuck her properly then, hands on her ass lifting her as he withdraws as much as he can given the angle, and then sinks back inside to the hilt. He keeps his thrusts controlled as he lets them both get used to the sensation, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek as he resists the urge to throw her down on the floor and fuck her until she’s screaming his name.

 

“Harder,” she begs, “Faster,  _ please _ .”

 

He immediately quickens his pace, his thrusts hard and unrelenting. He pulls her down onto his cock and she pitches forward slightly, biting the skin of his shoulder in a bid to muffle her moans. He can feel himself starting to lose control, the coil of pleasure that’s wound tight in his belly starting to unwind as the elevator is filled with the harsh sound of their bodies slapping against each other, skin on skin.

 

“Are you close?” he pants, and she nods her head furiously against him, her breathy  _ yes _ shooting straight to his cock. “Touch yourself,” he growls, “Touch your clit.”

 

The hand that she's using to anchor herself to him remains wrapped around his neck, but he feels her other hand wedge itself between them, pressing down and rolling against her clit. Her movements are jerky, desperate, and she's making these little noises that he's pretty sure he'd like to hear every day for the rest of his life and then she's coming, writhing against him and tightening around his cock with a strangled cry.

 

His balls tighten and it only takes a couple more thrusts before he's emptying himself into her with a groan of her name, her walls fluttering around his cock as his orgasm overtakes him.

 

As he's coming down from his high, he's dimly aware of a noise, and then he realises that it's him, chanting Effie's name like a mantra. Her nose nudges his cheek and she brushes her lips against his in a soft and unhurried kiss, a direct contrast to any of their previous kisses or encounters.

 

She shifts the legs that are still wrapped around his waist and he helps her down, his hands resting on her hips in an attempt to steady her. She smiles at him somewhat shyly as she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her updo still in place but coming more and more unravelled by the minute. He'd still like to see her hair wild and free, and he thinks that maybe he'll get his chance; she had said there would be a later after all.

 

He'd like to tell her exactly what he'd like to do to her  _ later _ , and he's opening his mouth to do just that when there's a sudden jolt and a flickering of lights. Effie's eyes go wide, and it would be comical really, if they weren't both mostly naked and smelling of sex.

 

“They said they were going to give us warning,” she hisses as she rights the cups of her bra and pulls her skirt down over her thighs, “It hasn't been anywhere near two hours yet!”

 

The elevator gives another jolt and then starts to move down, and Haymitch snorts as he pulls on his boxers and jeans and watches Effie scramble around the floor for her shirt. She's buttoning it with shaking hands as he pulls his shirt on over his head, and the display is signalling that they're almost at the ground floor, and then he hears her give a muffled curse as she dives down and picks up the crumpled scrap of white lace that's been strewn on the floor.

 

He can see her mind is working overtime; she'll have no chance to slip her knickers back on, and by the time she unzips her briefcase the doors will have probably opened. She's standing there with a panicked expression on her face and her hands are flailing around aimlessly, and so Haymitch makes a split second decision, reaching out and grabbing her panties before shoving them in the pocket of his jeans. She looks at him and it's like she can't make up her mind whether she should be grateful or scandalised, but there's no time for her to dwell on it, because the elevator comes to a natural stop and the doors open with a ping.

 

There seems to be a welcoming party of sorts waiting for them, the two engineers joined by Annie, Finnick and Jo. Annie looks worried, a hand flying to her chest in relief when she claps eyes on them, Finnick looks slightly confused, and Jo looks like she can't make up her mind whether she's pissed off or amused.

 

“Oh thank God,” Annie gasps, “I was so sure that they weren't going to be able to get you out. Are you both ok?” She sounds genuinely frightened, and out of the corner of his eye Haymitch spots Finnick lay a comforting hand on her arm. Looks like Effie had been right about that one.

 

“I'd say they're more than ok,” Johanna says, the note of sarcasm in her voice apparent for all to hear, and beside him he hears Effie clear her throat loudly.

 

“We are both absolutely fine Annie, please don't worry yourself any further,” she says reassuringly, before turning her attention to Jo and continuing haughtily, “And I'm sure I don't know what you're implying, Johanna.”

 

“I ain’t implying shit. Your shirt's buttoned up wrong,” Jo snorts, and he doesn't have to turn his head to know that Effie's cheeks are likely bright red. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing when he spots the look of shock that appears simultaneously on Annie and Finnick's faces, because he's pretty sure that would push Effie over the edge, and he'd very much like to be present for this  _ later _ she's talked about.

 

Effie clutches her briefcase to her chest and pushes her way past the small crowd, and Haymitch take a step forward before faltering slightly. He's not sure where exactly they stand when it comes to this thing that's transpired between the two of them, and he's unsure if she wants him to follow her or not.

 

He's saved from wondering when she stops and turns her head slightly, that blush still glowing on her cheeks. “Those plans that you said you wanted to look at later are in my car. I'm just going there now if you'd like to see them, Haym--Mr Abernathy,” she throws back over her shoulder, and Haymitch almost trips over his foot in his eagerness to catch up with her.

 

Finnick looks at him knowingly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and he's pretty sure that he's not going to hear the end of this come Monday morning, but he couldn't give a fuck. Not if he gets to unpin that hair properly, and strip them both down until there's nothing between them, and show her that his hands aren't the only thing he's good with.

 

  
  
As Haymitch backs Effie up against her car, and her arms come up to loop around his neck he thinks that  _ yes _ ; this is definitely something he could get used to.


End file.
